Letters
by bonsai-bunny
Summary: The letters of Remus Lupin and Evangeline Pennifold. This is my first fic EVER and I'm not sure where I want to go with this so your suggestions would be great! Maybe RemusxOC though I'd like for it not to be since there's enough of those stories on FF.


Hi everyone! This is my first time writing a fan fic EVER, so be gentle. I also don't really know where I want to go with this, I don't really want it to be a RemusxOC fic but if you guys have any suggestions feel free to chime in! Of course, JK Rowling owns everything Potter-related. I am but a humble fanatic. Also, the style is heavily influenced by the writers of The Shoebox Project which, if you have never read that story, go right NOW NOW NOW to .org/sbp/ and experience the magnificence! (WARNING: It ends up being slash, and there are some mature themes. But it is sooo sooo good.) Please enjoy my first attempt at fic writing!

Dear Remus,

It seems so long ago since I parted from Hogwarts, but in reality it's only been—what, less than a week? I don't know what I miss more: Sirius sneaking biscuits in his underpants and then offering them to unsuspecting first-years, James' tragic moping after a Quidditch loss or the constant surprise you and I share when one of us sees the other's face unobstructed by a textbook whilst studying Potions.

Speaking of books, thank you so much for the lengthy list of summer reading suggestions. I just finished The Collector, which rightly spooked me in some places. Imagine someone being so infatuated with another person as to keep them locked away like a precious artifact. The whole story was quite unnerving, yet somehow fascinating. I only wish the ending was different, of course.

I hope your summer with the Potters and Sirius is enjoyable so far. I'm certain you will have no shortage of entertainment with _those_ two stirring up shenanigans everywhere they go. Honestly, I don't understand how you tolerate their behaviour sometimes. They're barely sufferable separately (especially Black, with his constant come-ons and egomaniacal deportment).

I apologise, it isn't fair of me to make judgments regarding their character. I don't know them as well as you do. I'll give them the benefit of the doubt that there must be _something_ admirable in each of them if you, being as rational as you are, can find camaraderie with both.

Will Peter be joining you on holiday? If you hear from him, let him know that the quill I borrowed from him is in good condition and I shall remember to return it to him when next we meet. I know how he can worry himself to pieces over things like that.

Currently I'm in the Czech Republic visiting some distant relation. The days here in Prague are incredibly pleasant, and the nights slip into a chill that makes the nose tingle and the cheeks flush. The inn where we are staying is so quaint and cozy; one could mistake it for Father Christmas' cabin. Most of my evenings have been spent fireside with one of the numerous books you selected for me to read. There is a brilliant library right down the street. I imagine if you could see it, you would swoon and faint right to the floor!

Tomorrow we'll be visiting St. Vitus Cathedral and the National Museum. I'm most looking forward to the museum bit since they have a vast collection of Greek artifacts, and you know how passionate I am when it comes to ancient Greco-Roman culture.

Sometimes I hardly feel like a sixteen-year-old girl, more like a seventy-plus stuffy old professor. Do I sound sixteen to you? I suppose if I dotted my I's with hearts and wrote more about how much I love the Broomby Brothers, I would seem more normal. But I don't. Love the Broomby Brothers, I mean. Though I admit "Disco Hippogriff" is quite catchy and has the ability to stick in one's head for days at a time, driving them to the brink of up-tempo insanity.

I've also enjoyed many long walks in the little brush behind the inn. I feel so Victorian and romantic, like someone out of a Jane Austen novel. I must say, though, that if ever there was a sudden shortage of brooms or flying motorcycles, I should be very contented to walk everywhere I go. Much to the dismay of my parents, who have done nothing but hover over me like so many vultures. It takes most of my cunning to try and sneak away after supper to my little glen. (Yes, it is mine. I have claimed this glen in the name of England. And Evangeline.) If only I were an animagus, I could talk to the many birds and little chipmunks I constantly see.

I'm beginning to sound like some wispy flower child. But wouldn't you like to be an animagus?

I'm sorry to leave this letter so abruptly, but my mother has finally left the lounge and this is my only chance to step outside for the evening. Send my regards to the Potters, and try to stay out of trouble with those blokes. I look forward to a return letter as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Evie


End file.
